


Threads Stuff

by thornfield_girl



Series: Bits and Pieces [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3758878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the title implies, this is some stuff from the Threads series, which I *really* regret not finishing. It was just so complicated. ></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Time Take One

**Author's Note:**

> These are scenes and fragments of fics that I've been working on in this fandom, and to celebrate the end of this wonderful show, I wanted to share them with you now. Mostly they are chapters in ongoing series (but sorry, not the Tim/Raylan one--I know!). All of it is unfinished and unbeta'd.
> 
> I don't have much time to work on fic these days because all of my writing time now is taken up with original fiction, but I really miss these characters and it was fun for me to read back over this stuff. Justified has been a huge source of inspiration for me, and I wouldn't be having my first book published THIS SUMMER if it hadn't been for the support and encouragement of this fandom. 
> 
> If you're interested in my original stuff, please email me at thornfieldgirl@gmail.com and I'll give you my info. I'd never spam you! I swear! But if I get enough interest, I might be willing to write a little more Justified fic from time to time, just for you. :D Just in case you're really hoping for some more of that Tim/Raylan series, this may be your only hope!!!

Boyd is braced on hands and knees, straddling Raylan's hips and grinning down at him. Raylan can hardly think for how hard he is, how much he needs Boyd to touch him, but he won't. Raylan has to wait. And he won't let Raylan touch him either. Their bodies brush lightly against each other. It's almost unbearable. 

"Please," he groans. Boyd rewards him with a kiss for that, but nothing else. 

"Please what, Raylan? What is it you want?" Boyd speaks smoothly and quietly, as if he could wait forever. He wants Raylan to beg him to touch him, or suck his dick. Fuck that, Raylan thinks. 

"I want you inside me," Raylan says, eyes boring into Boyd's. 

Boyd freezes. "What?" he whispers. 

"You heard me. Fuck me. That's what I want." Raylan reaches for Boyd's cock, and Boyd doesn't move to stop him this time. He's like iron, but so warm, and when Raylan touches him he lets out a sound that might have been comical if Raylan wasn't feeling equally desperate. 

"Raylan, I don't think- I can't-" He breaks off as Raylan squeezes him, then starts rubbing slowly up and down. He moans and lowers himself onto Raylan's chest, burying his face in his hair. "Jesus Christ, stop," he says, muffled and breathless. 

Raylan releases Boyd's cock and lets him slide down to put his mouth on him. While he's down there, Raylan starts talking again. "I want your cock inside of me, Boyd. I want it. I want it so bad, I-"

"Raylan!" Boyd panted, pulling off quickly. "Shut the fuck up." He surges up to Raylan's mouth again and kisses him. "There's no way I can even think about doing that right now. But I will, boy, if that's what you want." 

"Yeah," Raylan says, "I want it. But right now, I just want..." Without warning, he flips Boyd on his back and kneels up, taking himself in hand and jerking it fast and hard. He comes all over Boyd's chest, makes a mess, and he swipes his hand through it before taking hold of Boyd. 

Boyd comes after three pumps and gives him a gratifying shout. 

"Goddamn, son," Boyd says, after Raylan falls off him and to the side. "You blindsided me with that shit."

"You never thought about it before?"

"I guess I thought... well, I thought maybe you'd want to be the one to do the honors. I thought we might have a bit of a conflict in that area. I didn't want to fight about it, so I never brought it up."

"Oh, I want that too, don't get me wrong," Raylan says. He reached over the edge of the bed and grabs Boyd's boxers. As he wipes off Boyd's chest and stomach, he glanced up at Boyd, who's watching him curiously. "What?" he asks.

"You ever done that?"

"Can't say I've had the pleasure," Raylan replies, tossing the shorts into the basket by the dresser. "You?"

Boyd shrugs, then turns off the little oil lamp by the bed. "Fucked a whore in the ass one time. Though, that happened to be the lady's specialty, so I can't say I got a great deal of experience in the foreplay area on that occasion."

"Why'd you fuck her in the ass? She have a dick or something?"

Boyd snorts and rolls over. "Couldn't tell you. Only saw her from behind."

Raylan crowds up behind him and wraps an arm around his waist. "Well, we got plenty of time to figure it out."

"I'm on it. Now shut up and let me sleep."


	2. First Time Take Two

It had been six months, give or take, since Raylan came back to Harlan for good. It was early April, a wet and chilly one. He and Boyd had been at Nancy and Kathleen's all day, helping them divide their fields into community plots. It was a massive undertaking, and they'd been hanging out leaflets for weeks, so it seemed like everyone in Harlan had turned out. 

Things finally started to die down around 6 in the evening, when the light was starting to go. Boyd came strolling over to where Raylan was standing, clipboard in hand, and said, "I got us the one closest to the house."

Raylan looked at him like he was nuts and said, "Are you serious? You think we're gonna keep that shit up?"

"We need vegetables, Raylan. The shine is coming along, but it'll be a little while before we can live off what we get in trade. Anyway, I got time, I'll take care of it."

Raylan shrugged. "Suit yourself." He touched Boyd on the elbow, which was something fairly new, in public. Raylan liked it, though. It gave him a weirdly powerful feeling, in a way very similar to having his weapon holstered at his hip. Maybe that didn't bear much thinking on. "You about ready? I feel like I may never get warm again."

Boyd leaned just the slightest bit closer and grinned. "I bet I can warm your bones, Raylan. Or at least-"

"One of 'em. Yeah, I get it." Raylan rolled his eyes, but slid his hand from Boyd's elbow to the back of his neck. The skin was frigid, and Boyd shuddered at the touch. "Can we go?"

"I think so," he said. "Let me go give this to the girls and tell them we have some pressing matters to attend to."

"Please don't tell them that," Raylan pleaded, but Boyd just laughed and walked off.

By the time they got back to the cabin, it was full dark, and there was no light in the sky as it had been overcast and drizzling all day. Kathleen had sent them home with a loaf of brown molasses bread and some apples from their cold cellar. 

Raylan went to light a fire in the woodstove as soon as they were in the door. It would take awhile before it had any noticeable effect on the little house, though. He had to get some dry clothes on, as his were soaked through with damp. 

Boyd was already in the bedroom - their shared bedroom, for the last few months - pulling off his own damp things. Raylan eyed him up critically, then smiled. 

"What?" Boyd asked.

"You been putting on a little weight since I first came back here. You're looking good."

"You calling me fat?" 

Boyd had stripped off his boxers and was standing naked in the middle of the room, and Raylan walked over to him, unbuttoning his flannel shirt as he went. Boyd reached up with both hands and put them on Raylan's face. They were somehow warm, and almost burned his chilled skin. 

Raylan kissed him, and Boyd reached for the button of his jeans. The awkwardness of their very early days was gone. He no longer spent much time thinking about how weird this was, or worrying that he was showing too many feelings. He already knew they were in love - he'd been in love before, and this was unmistakably that - though neither of them had said so, and wouldn't for quite a long time. 

When the rest of his clothes were on the floor, they quickly got under the covers and wrapped themselves around each other. Boyd's cock was hard and pressing into Raylan's hip, so Raylan reached down to take it in his hand.

"Jesus, Raylan, your hands are cold!" he yelped.

"Sorry, sorry," Raylan muttered. "Your pecker's warm, though. That should do the trick."

Boyd laughed, but as Raylan kept stroking him, that turned to a low moan. His eyes closed heavily as he leaned in to press into Raylan's lips. 

Raylan slid down, under the covers, and knelt between Boyd's legs. He licked at Boyd's cock, then put his mouth over the tip for just a second, teasing him, and when he bucked up, Raylan pulled back and went lower. 

He held Boyd in his fingers and mouthed at his balls, which was still something that felt a little weird. Balls weren't exactly a turn on, but the way Boyd reacted certainly was. He was straining and making little noises that were making Raylan's dick harder every second. 

He licked the underside of them, then lower, almost to his ass, and Boyd groaned _loud._ Raylan was panting now, grinding himself into the sheets, and not thinking much at all when he moved his face down and pressed his tongue against Boyd's asshole. 

Raylan had only been holding Boyd's cock loosely and stroking him lightly, but as soon as he did that, he heard Boyd, muffled from outside the blankets, cry out almost plaintively, "Oh _fuck_ ," as he pushed up into Raylan's hand. Raylan pressed his tongue in harder, gripped him more tightly and jerked him maybe twice before he felt Boyd's come dripping down his fist. 

Raylan thought that was pretty interesting, to say the least, but at that moment he needed relief before they could talk about anything. He threw off the covers and pulled himself up to the headboard, leaned against it and ran his fingers into Boyd's hair. Boyd was still looking dazed from his apparently mind-blowing orgasm, and easily let Raylan tug at his hair and pull his head into his lap. 

It didn't take long, because all Raylan could think of was Boyd's reaction to what he did, how excited he'd been. If it had taken much longer, Raylan might have just come from humping the damn bed, he'd been so turned on. And the thought of what it might mean, maybe. What Boyd might let him do. And if he'd want to do the same, and whether that was something Raylan could allow. If it was something he could possibly even like. 

Boyd took him deep, and Raylan felt himself press against the back of his throat. He let himself go, letting out his release with a long, shuddering sigh, then sliding down to pull Boyd close. He bent to kiss him, but Boyd pulled back a little. 

"You just had your tongue in my ass, man. Maybe after you brush your teeth." 

Raylan pulled back, frowning. "You ain't gonna kiss me?"

Boyd shrugged. "I don't know, Raylan, it's just...not something I'm used to, I guess."

"Oh, like I am." Raylan disentangled himself from Boyd and said, "That's fine, Boyd. Next time I think about trying something new, I'll resist the urge. I could tell how much you hated it."

"Raylan, come on. You know that ain't what I-"

"You know what? I think I'll go to sleep. If you're gonna read or something, maybe you could do it in the living room."

Boyd stared at him. "It ain't even eight o'clock," he said flatly.

"I'm real tired," Raylan replied, turning over and pulling up the covers over his shoulder. "Good night."

"Fine. Be that way, asshole. When you decide to stop being a fuckin' bitch, let me know."

"Fuck you."

Raylan had realized he'd overreacted, even as he was still talking, but he never knew how to stop fighting once he'd started. Boyd left the room, and Raylan eventually fell into a restless sleep. He woke when Boyd slid into bed a few hours later, swallowed his pride and curled his body into his spine. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. 

"I know," Boyd said. "It was my fault too. I did like it, what you did. I mean, obviously."

"I felt weird about it after. That's why I got so pissed. Like you'd think I was...I don't even know." Raylan was grateful for the dark, because he could feel that his face was flushed.

"Well, I won't lie, Raylan. It was a little bit gay." 

Raylan laughed into the hair on the back of his head. "Honestly, I didn't give it a second thought when I was doing it. It was... It was fucking hot, if you really wanna know. You went off like a rocket, boy."

"How'd you know I'd like it?"

Raylan laughed again, a little embarrassed. "I slept with this girl one time, a bail bondsman... woman. She stuck her finger up my ass when she was blowing me. I never had the nerve to ask anyone else to do it, but... well. I was already down there, and I just thought you might be into it, that's all." He was blushing now, he could feel it heating up his face. 

"I liked it a whole lot, Raylan." 

Raylan licked his lips. They were dry, and he felt unaccountably nervous. He said, "You ever think of, uh. I mean. We're doing this thing, this relationship. I guess I wondered if we ever might try, you know, something a little..."

"You want to fuck me in the ass, is that the basic idea?" Boyd was solemn, but Raylan could hear a hint of laughter in his voice.

"Well, if you ever wanted to, maybe, try that. Yeah. I want to."

Boyd nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "That's something that could maybe happen. Although Raylan, I can't help wondering what on earth could be making you so damn nervous about asking me. I was either gonna say yes or no, not 'get the fuck outta my house.' You know that, right?"

Raylan nodded. "Yeah, I know that."

"I think maybe you were scared I was gonna ask for quid pro quo. But there ain't no reason to worry about that, beautiful. Because you know damn well I am. And I think you want that anyway. You're the one liked getting a finger up your butt so much it compelled you to stick your tongue up mine, lo these many years later."

"A finger ain't a cock, Boyd," Raylan said. 

"Well, mine certainly ain't," Boyd replied, and Raylan could hear him grinning. 

“Go to sleep, Boyd,” Raylan said. “We keep talking about it, you’ll have to help me out.” His dick was already half hard, but he was too tired to move and was trying to ignore it. 

The next morning, Boyd got up early to work on the still he had set up in the back shed. Raylan headed over to the station and hung around for a couple hours, though really nothing was going on. So many people had left Harlan that there was hardly any crime to speak of, other than the shit Johnny Crowder ran, which Raylan mostly looked the other way from. 

Around lunch time, he locked up and went over to Cary Emerson's office. He was dreading the conversation he was about to have - couldn't remember dreading one this much in quite awhile - but he couldn't think of another good solution to his problem.

Emerson came out of the back when Raylan walked in, jingling the little bell on the door. 

"Hey, Sheriff," he said, smiling brightly. "What can I do for you? Somebody die?" Emerson was the coroner now, as well as a family practitioner. 

"Uh, no," Raylan said, willing himself not to blush. He was a goddamn adult, and this was his goddamn doctor. Theoretically, anyway. Not like he'd ever been for a check up. "It's a personal matter."

"Oh, well alright," Emerson said. "Come on back." He walked back to an exam room, and Raylan hesitated in the doorway. 

"It ain't precisely medical. I just- I need some... can we just sit down somewhere for a minute? Jesus Christ, I can't believe I'm doing this."

Emerson was frowning at him, but he looked intensely curious. "Sure, we can sit in the waiting room. Nobody's here."

Raylan nodded, and they went back out. He forced himself to look the man in the face as he said, "You know, Boyd and me are a- a couple," he choked out. "We've been together for around six months, and that's all fine. It's great, actually, but as you may know neither of us is at all experienced with, uh..."

Emerson was trying, Raylan could tell, very hard not to laugh. Raylan glared at him, then made a disgusted noise and looked away. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Emerson said. "It's just, I was thinking, how lucky you are that I'm your doctor and not that old fart who had this practice before I came back."

"I ain't so sure about that now," Raylan grumbled.

"Look, I want to help you. I realize it took a lot for you to ask, and I'm not laughing at you. I mean, I'm laughing, but it's mostly because I feel as awkward as you do, okay?"

"Pretty sure that's not possible," Raylan said. He was certain this had been a mistake, and started to get up.

"No no, wait. Listen, I can help. But I need to be sure exactly, um, well I think I understand what you're asking, but-"

"Yeah, Emerson. Come on. We got the kid stuff well covered, alright? I ain't asking- ugh." He looked directly at Emerson, and he knew his face was red, but he went on anyway. Too late to back out now. "I just don't want to hurt him." 

Raylan couldn't be completely sure what kind of look Emerson was giving him now, but he had an idea that it might not be totally of a professional nature. He sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

"Okay," Emerson said. "I know what, how about a book? Would you prefer to read up on the subject rather than have me walk you through the particulars?"

"Christ, yes," Raylan said. "I would have looked for one, but I made the assumption that the Harlan library might not carry the type of literature I require."

Emerson laughed. "Good bet," he said, "but my practice in Louisville saw a lot of young gay men, and in fact you are not the first person to come to me looking for advice on this particular topic."

Raylan rolled his eyes. "Bet I'm the oldest, though."

Emerson just shrugged. "Wait here." He went into the back and came out a few minutes later with two books and a few pamphlets stuck in them. He was also carrying a little white bag, which he handed to Raylan along with the book. "Just... don't stress about it, that's my only advice. I mean..." He looked down and scratched the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable. "It's not a requirement. So if you or he doesn't like it, it doesn't mean you're not... it shouldn't take anything away from your relationship. Don't be a couple of straight guys about it, okay? It's not all about fucking."

Raylan stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. "Are you afraid that if we don't like it we're gonna think, 'oh shit, I guess it's just women for me after all'?"

Emerson blushed then and started to answer, then shut his mouth. Raylan was still laughing. "'Sorry, Boyd,” Raylan went on, “‘I thought we had something, but since I apparently ain't into butt-fucking, I can't be with you no more. No hard feelings.'"

Emerson was looking balefully at him now. "I was just trying to tell you to relax about it. You're the one who came in here asking me for my expert gay advice, so you could be a little less of an asshole about it."

Raylan shook his head, still grinning. "You obviously don't know me very well. Thanks for the books, Doc. And the..." Raylan peeked into the bag and found it half full with little sample packets of lube. "...this," he finished, blushing again. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Sheriff. Tell Boyd I said hey."

Raylan decided to take the rest of the day off - people knew where he lived if they needed to find him - but when he got to the house, Boyd was nowhere to be found. He poured himself a drink of whatever it was they had that passed for whiskey these days, and took it, and the books, to bed. 

The first one, an instructional text, was written in a very direct style, graphic and unflinching, but almost conversational. It wasn't all about anal sex, and Raylan thought he might peruse the other sections at some later time, just in case. Right now, he was being single-minded.

The other book was gay erotica, and Raylan found the cover to be a little embarrassing, all waxed-shiny, tanned flesh and rippling muscles. Still, his dick was hard by about halfway through the first one. By the time he got through the second, he was rubbing himself through his jeans and hoping to hell that Boyd would come back soon. 

About five minutes after Raylan finally set the book aside, he heard the door open, then voices in the living room. Raylan was still hard, and he hoped whoever had come back with Boyd wasn't going to stay long. 

He laid back on the bed and listened, idly stroking himself. He realized after a minute or so that it was Matthew, Cary Emerson's boyfriend. Boyd asked him if he wanted something to drink, and Raylan huffed with impatience when he said yes. 

It suddenly occurred to Raylan to wonder if Boyd was attracted to Matthew. He closed his eyes and pictured them in the living room, drinking and laughing - as they were doing just then - and maybe leaning in and kissing each other. 

Raylan's dick twitched under his hand. _Okay, so apparently that's something._ He found it sort of interesting, in a detached way, but realized he'd be pissed if Boyd were actually to do that. 

He heard them talking again, and then the door closed. The door to the bedroom opened a few seconds later, and Boyd leaned in the doorway. "Why Raylan," he said softly, "you're home early. Why didn't you come out and say hello?" He smirked and flicked his eyes downward to Raylan's hand, moving steadily over his cock. 

"Hello," Raylan said. "You gonna take your clothes off and join me in here? I got some knowledge to impart."

"Do you?" Boyd asked. He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off. Raylan gazed at him. He didn't look anything like the boys on the cover of that book. He looked way better. "That's a coincidence, baby, 'cause I do too."

Raylan's eyes widened. "You asked Matthew?"

"Well, Raylan, who else was I gonna ask?" He looked over to the nightstand on Raylan's side. "I figured you'd be going to see the good doctor." 

Raylan stared at him for a moment, then smiled and shook his head. "Can't get one over on you. So how do you want to do this? Should we flip a coin to see who goes first?"

Boyd burst out laughing. "Oh Raylan, I don't care." He was naked, and he slid under the covers next to Raylan. "You gonna get undressed?"

Raylan pushed his clothes off and threw them on the floor, then slipped under the sheets with Boyd. He slid in close and kissed him. "I don't care either, tell you the truth," he said. "This ain't a big deal, right? It don't mean anything different."

Boyd looked at him with an unreadable expression, and said, "I don't know. It might mean something to me. I wouldn't have ever thought I'd let someone do that. I been...I been in prison, Raylan. I was in as a young man, and there were many men who would have liked to have me. And I fought so hard not to let that happen. I used all the favors I could curry, my meager connections, and all my abilities to keep myself safe from that, because in prison you become a commodity, once somebody owns you that way."

Raylan frowned. He'd never thought about Boyd's time inside. He knew how it was in there, of course, though only in an academic way. He put his hand to Boyd's face. "It ain't about owning anyone, Boyd. Not for us."

"I know we wouldn't mean it like that, but letting you have me that way...it kind of seems like a point of no return, don't it?"

Raylan shook his head. He didn't really understand what Boyd was trying to say. "Return from what, Boyd?"

Boyd was quiet for a little bit, then said, "You know what someone told me once, when I was first in prison? It was some big old boy, had twenty years for killing his stick-up partner. He'd been in maybe seven or eight, had an old lady on the outside who was still loyal, came to see him every week. He said that after awhile, you change. It's so hard to go without someone touching you. It ain't about getting off, or not only. You want another person. He said you start to turn, you learn to want things you didn't use to, because it's all that's there. He said, you're in long enough, you change for good. He had a boyfriend in there and everything, Raylan. Not like, a punk, but a real lover. You'd be surprised how many people did that. It gets lonely."

"Boyd..." Raylan thought maybe he felt hurt by what Boyd had said. And that maybe he was a little bit pissed off about it, too. "We ain't in prison. You'd rather find yourself a woman, I can't hardly stop you, can I? I ain't looking for any way back. I came here to stay. You came to get me and brought me back here. I think maybe we passed the point of no return a ways back."

"Raylan, I didn't-"

"You can have it," Raylan said over whatever denial he was about to offer. Boyd fell silent and stared at him. "I want you to do it. I ain't gonna force myself on you if you ain't ready, man."

"Raylan, I never said that. I never said I didn't want to, or that..." He shook his head and propped himself up on his elbow, so he was looking down at Raylan. "All I was trying to say was that it _is_ a big deal to me. That it does mean things are different. And..." Boyd paused, reached down for Raylan's hand and laced their fingers together. "And I'm good with that. Just don't say it's nothing."

Raylan nodded, holding his eyes. "Alright," he said. 

"Alright," Boyd echoed. He gave Raylan a kiss that was as hot as it was unhurried, then wrapped his hand around his rapidly hardening cock. "What did you read in them books, anyway?"

"Well," Raylan said, rolling Boyd over so he was on the bottom, "let me just tell you, Boyd." 

Raylan told him everything he was going to do before he did it, with his mouth, his fingers, and finally his cock. He had himself positioned, ready to push in, Boyd beneath him, panting and wide-eyed. 

"Okay, Boyd?" Raylan asked, breathless with desire.

"Fuck yes," he said.

Raylan pushed forward and saw discomfort on Boyd's face. He stopped for a minute, then went in a little more. It took a long time, or at least it seemed to take a long time, for him to get all of himself inside, but it felt incredible once he had. 

"Boyd, are you-"

Boyd let out a long, ragged breath. "Yeah, just take it easy," he said.

Raylan nodded. He barely moved, just the tiniest of thrusts, rocking together, gently, along with Boyd. Boyd stroked his own cock and stared up at Raylan. After a bit, he nodded, and Raylan pulled further out, pushed back in, and heard a sudden gasp from Boyd. He froze.

"Do it again, just like that," Boyd whispered. Raylan did it again, and then more, until Boyd was squeezing his eyes shut and moaning. 

Raylan couldn't stop himself. He thrust in harder, going faster as he watched Boyd jerk himself off. When he came, it shot in streams up his chest, a few drops landing on his chin, and he shouted like Raylan had never heard him do during sex. He let go, straining against Boyd, coming hard inside of him.

Raylan pulled out and sank down next to Boyd, who was mopping at himself with a dirty undershirt. He grinned at the sight, though even that seemed like more energy than he had to spare. He was completely spent.

Raylan reached out with one hand and slid his fingers through Boyd's hair. "Guess I don't have to break up with you after all," he mumbled.

"What?" Boyd asked sharply.

Raylan laughed softly and told him the story of his horrifically awkward conversation with Cary Emerson. Boyd had a similar story to relate about his afternoon with Matthew.

"Jesus," Boyd said, "they must think we're completely ridiculous."

"Worse," Raylan said. "They probably think it's cute."

Boyd sighed. "It's alright for you," he said, "but I ain't never been called cute. I don't believe it suits me."

Raylan thought of pushing him, at another time might have engaged him in some sort of battle, but he was so tired. He wanted a nap. But first he wanted to know, "So, you want to do it again some time, right?"

"I'll do that any time," Boyd said. "I had no idea."

Raylan pulled him in close and closed his eyes. He didn't feel like he owned Boyd now, but Boyd had been right. It hadn't been nothing.


	3. The War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a whole plan. A whole plan! It's all plotted out. I just couldn't do it. I'm so very, very sorry. I failed.

"Huh," Raylan says, looking up and grinning at him in a way that Boyd can't help but admit is cute. It makes him look young, like he might have looked at some age he'd been when Boyd hadn't seen him. 29, maybe, something like that. “

Boyd looks up from the cabinet he's emptying out. “What?” 

"My exit paperwork, from the Marshal service," he said, waggling some papers in his hand. "A week from today will be the fourth anniversary of that day you came to drag my ass back here." 

They're cleaning out the spare room for the second time. The first time was to make room for Raylan that he'd ended up not having much use for. Ever since Raylan had abandoned the room in favor of Boyd's bed, they had steadily allowed it to fill up with things to trade, unfinished projects and things they didn't know what to do with but didn't feel they should throw away. 

"Anniversary? IIs that the date we're using, then? Should we choose to mark the occasion." 

Raylan shrugs. "Not sure what other one we'd use. I don't really care to use the day I came down here to arrest you. Anyhow...yeah. That's the date. September 18."   
"Four years, huh? That sounds like a long time. Don't really feel like it though." 

Raylan cocks his head at him and squints in his direction. "Nope, not so much. We been busy."

Boyd glances around the cluttered room. "I really don't feel like doing this right now, Raylan."

Raylan sighs. "Me neither. But tomorrow's the meet. We been talking about clearing this shit out of here for months." He quirks an eyebrow at Boyd then, and says, "But if you had something particularly interesting in mind..."

Boyd rolls his eyes. "The news is on in a few minutes. I want to hear what's going on in Texas." Raylan very nearly pouts, and Boyd looks at him with ersatz sympathy. "We can cuddle on the sofa and watch the world fall apart, and then I'll blow you. Does that work for you?"

Raylan shrugs. "Sounds okay," he says. "But then we load up the truck with the shit we're bringing to the meet tomorrow. Before it gets dark."  
"Sure, honey, whatever."

Raylan gave him the look he always did when Boyd called him that. The first time, he'd said it made him feel like a girl, but Boyd had told him he wasn't about to stop, that Raylan was dear to him and he would call him whatever he pleased. Raylan had blinked and said, "Okay, Boyd," and then jumped on top of him. 

"After the news, Raylan," Boyd reminds him, walking away from him to the living room. 

The only news that's available these days are a daily report from the new government-owned channel, and coverage from CNN that runs about six hours a day. Normally they don't bother with CNN, on account of their habit of talking nearly non-stop bullshit, but the situation in Texas is changing constantly, and could have long-ranging consequences. 

In some ways, it's like the last four years never happened for some of these assholes, like an international catastrophe was just a speed bump before they could get back to their regularly scheduled partisan bickering. But he knows they're lying; they're scared shitless, and if they’re not they certainly should be. 

As soon as the country started to get power back, about a year and a half earlier, groups had begun to spring up all over the place in support of the idea that people should stay off the grid, that they should remain self-sufficient and not place their trust in technology. Boyd himself was very sympathetic to this movement, and had changed very little in his life after the turn on. He continued to keep his still and his chickens, and Harlan as a whole continued to operate largely on the barter system, despite the fact that cash had been making a comeback. 

No one seemed particularly anxious to go back to how it had been before, though of course refrigeration and hot water heaters were welcomed back wholeheartedly by most people, including Boyd. 

One of these power-independence groups had begun to make noise in Harlan some months back. Their members seemed to come from the surrounding towns, some from neighboring counties. Boyd had gone to a few of their meetings, and at first he'd been excited about it. 

Raylan had heard a few things here and there that concerned him a bit - that a lot of them seemed to have their roots in a hard-right religious tradition, that they wanted the country to return to the old ways in more than just technology, and even that there had been serious rumblings about secession. 

Boyd had dismissed that stuff, saying that might be true of some of the groups, but that the people in Harlan weren't like that. They knew and respected him and Raylan, and their relationship, so he couldn't see them being too into the Christian Right thing. And secession, that was just ridiculous. The US military was weakened, certainly, but could still crush a bunch of redneck assholes with romantic aspirations. No one in their right mind would try. 

It was maybe their fourth or fifth meeting when everything had changed. They always met in the basement of the public library, on Wednesday nights, and there were normally between ten and twenty people in attendance. That night, the place was packed. There had to be close to forty people, and Boyd hadn't recognized any of them. 

Boyd had been running the meetings, being a talented public speaker, and a man had come up to him before it got started and introduced himself. His name was Jacob Petty, and he lived up in Manchester. He ran the branch of a group with similar aims, he said, up there in Clay County, but they were much bigger. They called themselves the Bluegrass Free Citizens and they were growing in numbers all the time. They'd been hoping that the Harlan group, which was currently independent, would become an affiliated chapter of the state-wide organization. 

Boyd had taken the literature Petty gave him and brought it home to show Raylan. They'd both found it quite disturbing, full of barely coded language about heritage and traditional values. Raylan had given Art a call the next day, and found out that they had strong ties to some militant white supremacist groups, in addition to somewhat more mainstream but still out there right wing and religious groups. 

Petty had shown up again the following week with a few of his fellow members, and Boyd had told him the Harlan group wouldn't be joining up. Petty had asked to be allowed to speak to the group, so they could be informed and make up their own minds, rather than have their decisions made unilaterally by someone with a _non-traditional mindset._

Boyd had sneered but told him, "Go right on ahead," and went upstairs to quietly call Raylan. He'd gotten a bad feeling, suddenly, and he hadn't been at all sure Petty would be satisfied with just talk. Raylan had pulled up just as Petty was finishing. Boyd had stayed in the stairwell and listened to the speech; the man was a good speaker. He was not in the same tradition as Boyd, not a preacher. He spoke to the crowd as if they already knew all the things he was telling them. He was saying things as if they were self-evident, and Boyd could feel how effective it was. He could feel the pull to agree, to go along, himself, even though he knew it was false logic. Nothing but preying on people's fears and tribalist urges. Most upsetting of all, though not really surprising, were the occasional murmurs of concurrence he heard in the crowd.

Raylan found him where he stood. "How bad?" he asked.

"Bad," Boyd shrugged. "I'm gonna go in there now and try to keep this from happening." He looked worried, and Raylan smiled warmly at him. 

"Boyd, you convinced me I liked sleeping with men and that it would be for the best for me to move back to a town I'd avoided for twenty years. I think you got this."  
Boyd gave a short laugh and kissed his cheek before jogging down the stairs. Raylan followed him down and stood on alert at the back of the room. Boyd approached Jacob Petty and offered a hand to shake, which Petty did, though a bit warily. He sat on the edge of a table at the front of the group and said, "I listened to what Mr. Petty here had to say, and I want to tell you that I understand if you felt a certain attraction to it. Even I myself did, and I have good reason not to. You all probably know - and if you didn't, you will now - that I spent some years involved with some people who feel the white man has some sort of claim to this country, indeed to the power in any place he chooses to seize it."

Some people made noises at that. None of them sounded like this was news to them. He looked back at Raylan then and met his eyes for a second. Raylan nodded back at him, and he went on.

"We're all white people here, in this group. We're the majority here, in Harlan. There's a couple ways you can go with that situation, as I'm sure you know. You can use that power to exclude, or to make life safer and better for everyone. Now, I know all the words to use to inflame, to incite. I also know, as this man does, how to make it sound like there ain't a more sensible thing in the world. I'd almost convinced myself at one point. Problem is, it don't stand up to reflection, nor to any application of logic."

The crowd was quiet, mostly looking at their own hands, and a few at Boyd, but not around at each other. Petty stood up and said, "Now just hold on here. No one said a thing about white power, that's not what I'm talking about here."

Boyd looked at him calmly and said, "Oh? Then perhaps you can explain to us what you mean when you say ‘our nation should be once again in the hands of those with a rightful claim to it.' Or that we need no longer suffer the 'drain of inferiors on our system'? Because honestly, that language is all very familiar to me. And these people are not stupid. If you want to appeal to the racially motivated among us, I would suggest a more direct approach."

"You assume that refers only to race," Petty said.

Boyd smiled his sharpest, most brilliant smile, and without thinking too much about it, Raylan moved his hand closer to the firearm on his hip.  
"Well then," Boyd said, "why don't you speak openly? This is America, we got freedom of speech here."

Petty looked around at the group, which was a fairly typical selection of Harlan residents. There weren't too many college graduates here, but a lot of churchgoers. Boyd knew what the man thought he was looking at, what he probably figured was his best shot. He was banking on ignorance, and Boyd hoped that was a miscalculation. In truth, however, he wasn't entirely certain.

"Before the lights went out," Petty began, "our country was already heading down a dark path. Decent, normal, hard-working people suffered indignity after indignity, were forced to accept - with good cheer - the so-called 'rights' of the perverted and base elements of society. Now, I know that for the past several years we've all been focused on survival, and there hasn't been much time to think about dangerous nonsense such as that, but we ought to be damn certain we're working to bring this country back into the light. We have an opportunity here to set things right."

Petty sat back, and the crowd muttered, quietly at first, and then a woman sitting off to the side, who hadn't spoken all night, stood up and said, "We don't want you here. You can go now."

Boyd smiled, more softly now, and said, "Well, even Darlene has been moved to speak. Thank you, darlin'. Anyone else care to chime in?"

A young man named Kurt- barely more than a boy really, he'd been a high school senior the year of the Event - was sitting in the front row. He'd been heavily involved in the group, would come early to help set up, and would talk about it to anyone who'd listen. He stood and said, "It seems like you're talking about the gays and all that? Is that right?"

"That's right, son," Petty said. "The so-called gays, the feminists, all the destroyers of our proud culture. We need strong men in days such as these, not the emasculated weaklings our society has been forced to embrace."

"Well, that's just stupid," Kurt said. "Boyd here has a boyfriend, who's the Sheriff of this county, and I can't think of anyone who'd call either one of them weak. Plus there's Matthew, who's on my hunting crew, and he's the best shot besides me. You can't fool people with that bullshit no more. Most people know at least one gay by now, so they can see with their own eyes you're just making shit up."

Petty nodded almost sympathetically. "I understand, son, you're young and you've been taught all that stuff is normal, but I bet your daddy would feel differently about it. Folks, this is exactly what I'm talking about, it's the vulnerable younger generation, they are at a crossroads-”

"I think that's enough," Raylan put in laconically from the back of the room. He pushed casually off the wall and walked forward. "Like Boyd said, this is America and these people can do what they like, but they've heard you out and now it's time for this meeting to wrap up. You're welcome to leave your pamphlets and whatnot."  
There had been a little back and forth after that, but Petty had gone peaceably, leaving behind a stack of flyers for the next BFC meeting. Boyd didn't see anyone take one, though he knew that statistically there must have been at least a couple people interested. If they were refraining only out of respect for him, he thought that was a victory in itself, so he didn't mind.

That was more than a month ago, and since then a lot had happened. Similar, loosely affiliated groups in Kentucky and elsewhere had begun to make a lot of noise. There had been large-scale rallies in several cities, mostly in the south but also one in California and one in western Pennsylvania. The northern states mostly seemed to want a return to the previous ways, which made a lot of sense considering the weather. Kentucky got cold enough, and it was easy to imagine how miserable someplace like Chicago would be in the winter with no electricity and scarce oil and gas. There had been huge riots there in the first two years after the Event, and large sections of that city had been burned to the ground. Detroit basically no longer existed, or so Boyd had heard. Aside from the public demonstrations, there had been small but problematic displays of destructive protest. 

One common method these groups employ is to sabotage power lines. They have people stationed at points all across a service area, and at a set time, they take a chainsaw to the poles so they fall over. The power company then has to run around like crazy for weeks, trying to attend to all the downed lines. It's incredibly easy to do, difficult to catch anyone doing it, and extremely disruptive to an already overworked system.   
They also stage illegal pickets in front of power companies and block the exits, they set off smoke bombs in the lobbies of these companies, they slash the tires of power company trucks. They've been doing all these things and other ones on a similar scale for months, and everyone had been waiting for it to escalate, for something _big_ to happen. 

And then it had. In Texas, the energy independence movement had been huge since almost the beginning, but had been mostly peaceful. Then, a day earlier, a large explosion was reported at a power station outside of Lubbock, darkening a good-sized area. 

Boyd sprawls on one end of the couch, and Raylan leans against the other arm, resting his socked feet in Boyd's lap. 

"I ain't giving you a foot rub," Boyd says.

"Ain't asking for one," Raylan replies, rubbing his foot in Boyd's crotch. 

Boyd huffs and shoves it away. “Quit it, asshole. Come on, Raylan, don’t you want to see what those crazy motherfuckers in Texas are doing now? This could be important.”

“I kinda don’t want to know,” he admits, but before Boyd could yell at him he added, “I know we need to pay attention. I just…” He looks away. “I know how fast shit can get out of hand. I know how bad it can be. I don’t like watching it happen.”

“Oh.” He nods and pulls Raylan’s foot back onto his thigh. “Yeah.” Raylan’s never gone into detail about what happened during the time he spent in Lexington after everything changed between them. Boyd knows about the prison break, and he knows Raylan did things that disturbed him. Raylan has always had a code, and whatever he experienced there put him at odds with it. 

“I’m fine, Boyd.” Raylan smiles at him mildly. “I don’t like it, but I ain’t gonna have flashbacks or nothing.”

Since he knows Raylan would hate to be fussed over as much as he himself would, he just turns the television on. It’s still feels strange, almost surprising, that it works. The screen is showing a series of images of several men and women, interspersed with a shot of a large, yellowish building that the voiceover explains is the Jones Generating Station, located southeast of Lubbock Texas. The people on screen are hostages, employees being held inside by the Texas chapter of an organization called the True Patriots. 

Raylan is staring at the screen, a hard line between his eyes and his mouth in a grim line. "Jesus Christ," he mutters. "What the hell do they think they're doing?"

"They're fools," Boyd replies. "They think most people would really think the way they do, if only they had the courage to say so. They think they're gonna liberate people."

Raylan shakes his head slowly. "They're gonna get us attacked from the outside while we're distracted, that's what they're gonna do. All because some bunch of entitled shitstains are throwing a tantrum about not being in charge of the world anymore."

"They're us, Raylan," Boyd says grimly. "Middle-aged southern white men. Although, I suppose we get to claim minority status now."

"I'll take it," Raylan snorts. "Anything to distance myself from these idiots." 

They watch the same pictures scrolling over the screen while the CNN anchors repeat the same shit over and over until it's clear there's nothing new to be gleaned. Raylan shuts off the set, and they look at each other. 

"I ain't really in the mood no more," Raylan sighs. 

"No. Let's just finish clearing the spare room."

They work in there until the truck is full, they're exhausted, and the sun is going down. Their plan is to sit out back, build a fire and drink beer all evening. They have some fried chicken in the fridge, courtesy of a woman Raylan had helped out when some neighborhood boys were breaking into the fenced-in garden where she grew weed. Neither of them talk much at all while they work, and when they're finished, they talk about anything but the news. They swap gossip, and when that runs out, they talk about old times a little. Boyd plays the guitar and Raylan sings, and then they pull each other into bed. They’re both still in a bit of a mood, but it’s different now. Whatever pain and loss they’re each remembering doesn’t come between them, but only reminds them that it’s also what brought them together. Boyd would never say - never even think - that it was worth it, but he’s glad for it all the same. When Raylan comes, shuddering, groaning love words into Boyd’s ear, he can’t think anything else. 

Chapter 2 

The next morning, they both head over to the meet and stake out a large area on which to set up all their shit. They have Boyd's shine and some chicks to sell, in addition to all the accumulated junk from the spare room. Raylan is haggling with a guy over some old tools that he'd scavenged, then cleaned and oiled until they shone. Nancy wanders over after the first wave of buyers and traders dies down, looks critically at the chicks, then leans against the side of the truck. She's scowling, and gazing at someone on the other side of the field. 

"Remember them Bluegrass Free Assholes came around here a while back?" she asks. 

"I would be hard-pressed to forget," Boyd says, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "Why?"

"They're holding a sort of revival out at the old Trimble place. Got a tent and all, a preacher, fucking burgers and beer, ice cream for the kiddies. And that fucker Petty's gonna be there, speakin' on how to take our country back from...well, you know. Dykes, fags, niggers, uppity women, atheists. The usual suspects.” 

Boyd's whole face is a frown. "You know," he says softly, "it's a free country. The man has a right to his ignorance, and other people got a right to listen to it for whatever their personal reasons are. I ain't gonna fucking cry 'cause he don't like me. But what those people are advocating is reckless, at best. Sabotaging power lines and illegal pickets are one thing - I don't like it much, but it ain't killing anyone. But that shit in Texas..." He shakes his head.

"What about Texas?" Raylan asks, walking up. 

"You sell them tools?" Boyd asks, choosing to ignore him for the moment.

"Nah. Cheap bastard wouldn't come close to what they're worth." Raylan shrugs. "Anyway, what's going on?"

Boyd sighs, knowing full well Raylan’s going to be pissed off and wanting to go over there with a full head of steam once he hears. He can’t say he doesn’t sympathize, but he’s pretty sure this isn’t a situation where Raylan’s temper will be helpful.

“We may have a problem. That fucker Petty’s back at it, and he’s brought reinforcements. They’re out at Trimble’s, got a whole big fuckin’ show going on over there. I don’t know how we didn’t hear nothing, they must’ve made a deal in secret and set all that shit up overnight.”

Raylan’s face darkens immediately, and he gets that bug-eyed expression that always makes him look a little bit like a cartoon character with smoke coming out of his ears. Boyd very nearly smiles at him, but catches himself at the last minute. 

“Shit,” Raylan spits. “I’m heading over there right now. Those motherfuckers didn’t apply for no goddamn permit. They’re gonna have to go.”

Boyd laughed at the idea of anyone getting permits to gather, these days. He shook his head and said, “You know I’m every bit as distressed by this development as you are. However, I believe this problem may call for a bit more finesse than you are historically known for.” 

Raylan’s hands come to rest on his hips, and the look he gives Boyd is extremely familiar, though he hasn’t seen much of it in recent history. It reminds him of nothing so much as that first year Raylan was back in Kentucky. “Are you really trying, at this late date, to snow me with your bullshit smooth talk?”

“Well,” Boyd says, staring him down, “that depends. Are you really going to disregard my sage advice and instead let your not-inconsiderable temper guide your actions?”

“Fuck you.” Raylan folds his arms and looks away in irritation. 

Boyd hears Nancy snicker, but he ignores her and wraps his fingers around Raylan’s forearm. “Raylan, you’re the Sheriff in this county, and if you want to go over there with a head full of steam and make things a lot worse than they need to be, that’s your prerogative. But you know goddamn well I’m right.”

Raylan aims that Yosemite Sam glare at him for a few more seconds, then huffs. “Fine. What do you suggest, genius?”

“I think we should leave them be,” Boyd says, “but we need to find out what they’re talking about. You need a mole in there, someone harmless they won’t notice. Someone who looks stupid but can pay attention and remember shit.”

“Why do I feel like you already have a candidate in mind?” Raylan says, his mouth quirking up at the corners.

“Raylan, who do you know that thinks the damn sun shines out your ass and would blindly do anything you tell him to do?”

“Yeah, Boyd, but Petty already knows who you are,” Raylan says, smirking. Nancy busts out laughing. “Anyways, I guess you’re talking about Bob Sweeney, right? That’s an idea, I guess.” He turns to Nancy and asks, “You seen him around today?”

“Nope, not this morning.”

Raylan nods. “Alright. Boyd, you’ll have to deal with this shit here while I go talk to him. I don’t want to wait.”

“Yeah, go on,” Boyd says. As Raylan starts to walk away, he shouts, “You’re welcome!” Raylan gives him the finger without turning around. 

Nancy’s rolling her eyes at Boyd, and she says, “I don’t know how that boy survived at all before you took him in hand.”

“Well, he had bosses, before. And a wife, of course, for a while.” Boyd winks at her and says, “Though he only listened to any of them when it suited him, far as I can tell. None of them could read his bullshit like I can, or at least, they couldn’t until it was way too late.”

“You talk a good game,” Nancy laughs, “but you ain’t fooling anybody, Boyd Crowder. I never did see anyone as gone as you are for that boy. 

“I know it,” Boyd says. “But that don't mean he ain't a nightmare sometimes.”

Nancy nods. “Don’t I know it,” she says. She glances in the direction Raylan went. 

 

 

 

"People never learn," Boyd says, as Raylan reaches for the remote.


End file.
